


The Captain Dances Again

by NezumiPi



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Dancing, Gen, I meant for it to be a sweet story, Just a little bit of torture, Music, really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1261558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NezumiPi/pseuds/NezumiPi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during and just after the Year that Never Was. Jack can feel shame, the Doctor can apologize. There's dancing and vegetables and redemption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Captain Dances Again

The Master didn't understand humans very well. He knew they disliked pain and so he used that fear as a motivator when they were slow to do his bidding (and when they were too fast to do his bidding and when they misunderstood his bidding and when he simply felt like it). He wasn't entirely clear on their other senses though. When a conscript dared to defy him, the Master exposed the woman to what he had assumed would be an agonizing odor – she reported that it smelled quite like nutmeg.

He had her killed.

The next time the Master's sense of suffering misfired, it was directed at Jack Harkness, who realized it was in everyone's best interest for him to play along. So Jack cowered and whimpered when the Master approached him with a blindfold, screamed and cried when he was left in the dark. He was a con man, after all, and a con man is just an actor with a more reliable pay scale. Jack didn't mind being deprived of vision – in fact, it was better sometimes not to see the devastation that surrounded him – but as long as he acted like it hurt, the Master would use it as a "torture" on him and on the others, thereby giving them a bit of separation from the real agonies.

The Master didn't like Jack, but at the same time, he was fascinated by him. He regarded Jack as both engrossing and disgusting at once. Time didn't bend the right way around Jack, it snagged and knotted. The never-ending drumming grew both louder and softer in the immortal's presence, often at the same time. He killed Jack, over and over, looking for the answer to the riddle, smashing what he didn't understand in hope that the solution would be found in the scattered pieces.

The Master demanded that Jack explain himself, that he turn over his secret to one better equipped to comprehend it, to a Time Lord such as himself. Torturing Jack seemed easy at first blush, since there was no need to worry about accidentally killing him, but the problem was that Jack was becoming numb to the pain. So while telepathy was never the Master's greatest talent, he spent many hours prodding at the foundations of Jack's mind, hoping something interesting would shake loose.

* * *

"You know, if you put in for a uniform one size smaller, I would enjoy this process a lot more," said Jack Harkness.

The soldier holding the hose scowled, or at least Jack assumed that he did, because the man's helmet hid his face entirely.

"I'm just saying, it's not much of a wet t-shirt contest if I'm the only one playing. Of course, if I'm a contestant, it's not much of a contest anyway, let's be honest. You should be impressed that I still have pecs after being chained up for eight months. I'm impressed with m- oooph."

The spray of water hit Jack in the face.

Jack was busy sputtering and trying not to let any water go down the wrong pipe when the main doors opened.

"Heya, Mister!" called out Jack, in his best simpering impression of _Leave it to Beaver_. Getting the Master's name wrong was always a good way to start off their little chats. "Gosh and golly, it's been too l-" Jack stopped, because he could now see that trailing behind the Master was the old, feeble Doctor.

This wouldn't end well.

The Master's guards followed him in, the Doctor in chains between them. "We always thought," said the Master, gesturing grandly, "that the Doctor was a smidge odd. His habit of taking human companions was, well," he leaned forward conspiratorially, "a bit mad."

Jack coughed twice in a manner which sounded very much like the words _pot_ and _kettle_ , looking over at the Doctor, trying to catch his gaze for a wink.

"People always wondered what he could want with those simpering little apes. I don't know that it ever occurred to them to wonder what the apes could want with him."

Jack suddenly realized what their little talk was going to be about. He had never been a religious fellow, never sought the sacred or fended against the profane. He understood guilt – he had plenty of that – but he had always been essentially immune to shame.

Except for this.

Time Lords weren't gods, but they were damn close and when Jack had experienced the thought for the first time, he had been overwhelmed by the notion that it was somehow blasphemy.

And here he was, strung up for all the world to see, no way to hide his face or make himself small when he so desperately wanted to. It was a shameful enough thought when he was alone with his imagination and his whiskey, but here, in front of others, in front of the Doctor…

"Tell me, Jack…you see the Doctor over there? What would you like to do to him?"

Jack pressed his chin to his chest, as if he hoped he'd be able to fold in on himself. "Travel with him. Be his companion."

The Master shot a servant in the leg.

"What would you like to do to the Doctor, Jack?"

Jack swallowed hard and tried to draw his shoulders inward, but the chains held tight. "Serve him!"

The Master laughed. "Serve him? Oh, that's not what I saw." He raised his gun to the servant again, this time aiming higher than the leg. "One last time, what would you like to do to the Doctor, Jack?"

Jack felt hollow, like there was no air inside him. He mouthed the answer, but no sound came out. This was blasphemy. This was wrong.

"What was that, Captain? Louder, please. Tell us what you want to do to the Doctor."

"I want to fuck him."

And there it was, that horrible image of their bodies, naked and soft and strong.

_The Doctor whimpers, "Oh, Jack, that hurts a bit."_

_"But it feels good too, doesn't it?" grins Jack as he thrusts again and again until the Doctor meets his climax, warm and shuddering._

The fantasy didn't go any farther, because by that point, Jack had always found his own climax. He'd always hated himself for thinking it, but there were times when he was alone and he was drunk and he was unable to resist.

Jack tried to keep his face turned to the side, but he glanced forward, dreading that he would meet the Doctor's eyes while also hoping for some sort of absolution.

The Doctor's gaze was fixed firmly on the ground.

* * *

Then Martha came back. Blessed Martha Jones. Strong Martha Jones. Wise and wonderful Martha Jones. If there were any gods, Jack would have thanked them for Martha Jones.

Jack understood on some level why the Doctor wanted to keep the Master alive, but he couldn't pretend he wasn't relieved when the bastard got what was coming to him. _See how you like dying, you fucking freak!_

Then they destroyed the paradox machine and everything went back to the way it was – everything except for them. Apparently the universe wasn't going to give Jack a do-over. Well, good for the stupid, stupid universe.

Jack sat on the upper deck of the TARDIS, his legs hanging down over the ledge. The ship's thrumming was familiar, though not as comfortable as he remembered. He was watching over her while the Doctor went out to procure milk and "those green peas with the purple dots on them." Jack was fairly certain the latter foodstuff did not exist, but if the past year proved anything, it was the Doctor's ability to inspire devotion. No doubt there was a greengrocer out there manically speckling individual peas.

Jack heard the footsteps, but he didn't acknowledge them. This was the part where the Doctor said thank you for your help now get off my ship. Jack supposed he should be grateful he was at least being dropped in a familiar place and time. And if he was honest with himself, after his humiliating admission, he wanted to get away from the Doctor as much as the Doctor wanted to get away from him.

The Doctor settled to the floor next to Jack, leaning forward on the railing. "There are several things you should know. First of all, you should know that grasshoppers have an open circulatory system. Not really relevant to the rest of this conversation, but I think you should know it. Might come in handy one day." The Doctor paused to eat a frozen green bean straight from the package. "Second, you must remember that even though I look human, I most certainly am not."

Jack nodded, the hurried, repeated nod he used as a child when he was scolded and he knew he had done wrong.

"To sate your curiosity," the Doctor continued, "I do have all the parts. And they do…work."

Jack felt this was the appropriate moment for an irreverent comment, but one failed to come to mind.

"But my experience of sex is very different from yours, just like my experience of time and life and death is very different from yours. My experience of sex isn't tied to pleasure or emotion. It's simply something I would do if I wished to conceive a child." He ate another green bean. "I'm occasionally rather jealous of other species in this respect. It seems like quite a lot of fun I'm missing out on." As he said this, he inspected a particularly long frozen green bean before gnawing on it like a rabbit.

Jack was suddenly and completely certain that a life without the joys of sex was worse than immortality with fully functioning genitals. Somehow this made him feel better about his lot in life.

"I never would have…"

"I know you wouldn't, Jack. It was just a thought. But even so-"

"I-"

"But even so, you shouldn't be ashamed. It's how you love. You have shown me great love and devotion and I…have given you very little in return."

The Doctor set the package of frozen green beans on a shelf which seemed to have appeared just for the occasion and stood. He offered his hand to Jack. "When we first met, there was talk of dancing. Will you dance with me?"

The TARDIS was apparently prepared for the occasion, because some modern music began to play, something soft and moody that Jack had heard before but didn't quite recognize.

Jack took the Doctor's hand and stood. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be in the position of looking the Doctor in the eye, but he knew that he did want to dance with the man.

They swayed to the rhythm like awkward adolescents at a school dance.

"I should never have left you behind. I should have gone back for you." The Doctor brought his face very close to Jack's, perhaps as close as he could without being overcome by the _wrongness_ of Jack's curse. "The TARDIS couldn't but…I should have found a way."

The ballad ended and a new song began, a faster one that didn't call for uncomfortably shifting from one foot to the other. It took Jack a moment to identify it. Something from the 1980s? "Is this…the _B-52's_?"

The songs kept moving backward through time. They went from the _B-52's_ to _The Who_ to _The Beatles_ to Elvis Presley's _Jailhouse Rock_.

"I met Elvis once," said Jack.

"Really? How was he?"

"Nice enough, but he still owes me money."

They danced through Glen Miller and Louie Armstrong. They danced through high swing and smoky jazz. When they got to Al Jolson's _That Haunting Melody_ , they slow danced again, and it wasn't so awkward this time. They sang along with _Who Put the Overalls in Mistress Murphy's Chowder_. They tried to follow Rachmaninoff with a box-step and found themselves hopelessly lost. They were elegant to Brahms and sloppy to Dvorak.

The music shifted again and Jack recognized it immediately. "Tchaikovsky!"

"Oh?"

"I had only been here a few months. I stood outside a concert hall and tried to hear the whole thing."

"Did you ever meet the man himself?"

Jack shook his head. "He wasn't very public. And I didn't travel far from the rift in those days."

"I heard he was a bit compulsive."

"All the Russians were, back then."

As the song entered its second movement, the Doctor smiled into Jack's shoulder. "Tell me about Ianto Jones."

Jack wondered momentarily how the Doctor knew about Ianto, but he knew better than to waste much time on the question.

"Ianto…let's see…he's got a great ass. And he's clever. He's quiet, but the things he says, they're worth listening to. He's patient. He wants to know, but he doesn't need to know. He lets me have secrets. He's very neat. And he's got a great ass. I mean, truly excellent. I could spend all day watching it. Sometimes I do. We've got these CCTVs and I can just zoom in and-"

The Doctor kissed Jack. The kisses weren't prudish and brief, nor were they romantic and passionate. They were gentle, like a parent to a child or a benevolent god to a worthy worshipper. The Doctor kissed Jack on his forehead, on his cheeks, on his lips, on his eyelids, on his chin. It cost the Doctor something to do this, just like it cost him something to dance with Jack or to look at him. "I am so sorry," he said, "I am so sorry I left you. And I am so glad that you have made something good of this."

They listened to the music for a few moments more. It wasn't the sort of rhythm they could dance to, but they kept their arms around each other.

"I'm going to stay," said Jack, though the Doctor had never actually offered to take him along. "I'm going to stay in Cardiff. I have something here. I'm building something here."

The music ended.

Each man took a step back from the other.

"You could-" began the Doctor.

Jack shook his head. "No." He knew what the offer would be, knew that it was out of guilt. Standing in the TARDIS, he could feel what a strain it was for her to accept the premise of his life. And if he could sense the TARDIS's discomfort with his human mind, then the Doctor must- "No, they need me here."

The Doctor picked up his package of frozen green beans, now conveniently at waist height. "When the Earth is beset again by hostile aliens, I think they will find you quite useful indeed." He tipped his head to the side. "Though I do wish you'd stop waving your gun around."

"I'm quite proud of my gun."

"Well, perhaps there will come a day when the Earth needs you to 'wave your gun' at some not-so-hostile aliens. I can't make any promises, but…" The Doctor shrugged with a vaguely hopeful grin.

"Did I ever tell you about the time that I brokered peace between two rival moons with a sixteen hour orgy?"

"Yes. Yes, you did. In great detail."

"Some of them were amphibious. Could breathe through their skin. Has advantages in-"

"Go home to Torchwood, Jack. Go home to Ianto Jones."

"I'll tell you something else about him: he's mortal."

"They all are. Even me."

Jack said nothing. He had spent over a century waiting for the Doctor to release him from his curse, only to find out that nothing could be done, that he would be alone for all eternity. He had been trying not to think about it too hard.

"Losing them. It's always…it makes you think you should only ever have one. And that works for some people. But then I got to thinking, a lot of people have dogs."

Jack wasn't sure exactly what was being implied. Was that some kind of veiled bestiality crack?

"Humans live a lot longer than dogs," continued the Doctor. "You get a dog, you're almost certain to outlive it. You know it's going to die and break your heart." The Doctor rested his hand on Jack's shoulder and he didn't seem the least bit uncomfortable or pained by the gesture. "People love dogs anyway."


End file.
